To Protect Another Time
by KnowNonsense
Summary: A mysterious deity sends Bilbo back in time. Given this chance to change things for the better, Bilbo sets off on his journey determined to protect his friends. Will he save their lives and prevent war across the land? Or will they die once again, and his mistakes doom Middle Earth and change the future forever? It will all come down to one ring, and the courage of a hobbit.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Curled on the floor was a small, thin creature. Golden curls framed sharp, jutting cheekbones, and despite its pale pallor, a healthy glow seemed to emit from its skin.

Utterly still, the creature was dead to the world. The only sign it lived being the gentle rise and fall of its chest, and the soft breathes that stirred the air around it.

It was a curious little thing.

How had such as slight creature impacted the world so much?

The mere thought of it was befuddling. Mind-blowing even.

Beings such as Sauron, the Istari, Durin's Bane, the men of Númenor, and even elves, had all been blessed with power. Those were the ones _meant_ to rule, to change the world. So how was it that _this_ little creature had made more difference than them all?

It must have been luck.

Yes, that could be the only explanation. But how then, had the nephew done the same? It was impossible.

Or at least, it had seemed that way.

Soon though, this creature would wake. There was little time to decide what to do with it, not to mention what to tell it.

 _Umm, I kidnapped you from the Undying Lands because I was curious_ , didn't seem like a good idea. Then it'd probably ask why it hadn't been returned yet.

What a conundrum.

* * *

Bilbo's eyelids fluttered open. He blinked blearily, the world coming into focus around him.

It was dark, the only light being faint and from far above. Cragged rocks and stalagmites were all he could see. Sitting up with a groan, because _Eru was he stiff_ , something soft, and mildly wet was crushed beneath his hands.

 _Mushrooms?_

With a gasp the realization hit him. He was in Gollum's cave.

Everything, from the light, to the damp air and bones on the ground; it was the same. This was the place that had haunted his dreams. That sometimes he'd wished bitterly he never came across, but other times thanked his lucky stars. Here, was where he'd found _it_.

The One Ring.

The object that had saved his life, and the lives of his _company_ , over and over again. But the pain, oh the pain Frodo went through. It should never have come to that.

If he had not found it though, if it had snagged a malevolent bearer, as was its original intent…He shuddered to think of the outcome.

He did not know, if things were to happen again, whether the outcome would be as pleasant. Many had died, yes. But evil had been overcome in the end. Never again would the people of Middle Earth live in fear of Sauron.

Perhaps the way things had happened had been for the best, after all.

Bilbo's limbs ached and his stomach felt hollow. Patting his face he was greeted with bony, sunken cheeks, revealing he'd lost the roundness gained since entering the Undying Lands. He tried to stand, but instantly his weakened muscles started shaking. A wave of dizziness passed over him, and he was resigned to stay sitting on the ground, one hand on the wall.

 _What on Earth had happened to him?_

Last he remembered, he and Frodo had been sitting together and having a picnic. They'd been chatting leisurely. By the coast. In the sunshine. And for the love of all things green, in the _Undying Lands_ where only _wonderful_ beings with _goodwill_ were allowed.

So _why_ in all of Arda was he in _Gollum's_ cave?

Maybe this was all just a hallucination. He was after all, what, 131? Quite an age for a hobbit.

But no. Now that he thought about it, he seemed to remember feeling quite drowsy...

Telling Frodo he could go back without him, because he wanted to admire the horizon...

A flash of light? No, that couldn't be right.

How strange...

With a sigh, he gently lowered himself onto the bed of mushrooms, and lay back down. He was exhausted, and he didn't even know from what. He'd go to sleep now.

Perhaps there'd be more answers when he woke up...

* * *

He woke later to the sound of light footsteps.

Opening his eyes just slightly, he peered cautiously through his lashes, eyes widening at the sight before him.

An elf?

No, this was not an elf...

The very air seemed to thrum with power, and the pale being's smooth skin to glow. Obviously female, her form cast a faint light instead of a shadow, illuminating the darkness of the cave. She was tall and fair with high cheekbones, and had feminine features that gave her a regal bearing. Everything about her seemed elven, but to call her one seemed almost...inadequate.

Slowly, he slipped his eyes shut. Relaxing his body he attempted to maintain the illusion of sleep.

"Little hobbit, I know you are awake." Said an amused, musical voice.

Obviously he'd failed. _No point in pretending now_ , he thought.

Carefully, he righted himself to a sitting position, facing her. His eyes locked with stormy grey ones, and their intensity sent a shiver down his spine.

"Where am I?" He asked.

The not-an-elf lady scoffed, and tilted her chin up slightly, looking down at him. "I should think you would know Halfling. Was this not the place you changed history?"

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and a bitter taste came into his mouth. Was she talking about the ring?

"I suppose," he said cautiously. "But however did I get here? And who are you? Last I remembered I was eating luncheon with my nephew!"

She tapped her chin in an absentminded manner.

"I brought you here."

 _WHAT_.

"Um, _pardon?_ "

"To ask you some questions," she answered briskly.

Lifting the hem of her skirt, she sat cross-legged in front of him, and then gestured with one hand. "You see Halfling, I was in a cursed sleep cast by Sauron during your journey, as well as that of your nephew's. I know nothing about what happened, but what I've heard and the evidence I've seen." She chuckled softly. "I must confess, I am _quite_ curious."

Obviously she was someone important if _Sauron_ deemed fit to curse her and all. But still, _seriously_?

"Alright, so let me get this straight. You _kidnapped_ me, just because you slept through some stuff?"

She didn't even have the good grace to look sheepish. "Indeed." she said. He almost laughed out loud. Questions in Gollum's Cave? He was getting a serious sense of déjà vu here. _Might as well play along then_ , he thought.

"Okay, so you ask me some questions, I answer, you show me the way out?" Bilbo prompted.

"Hmmm, perhaps." _Please work please work please work_.

"I just don't understand. How is it a weak creature such as yourself brought about the destruction of a dark lord? You had no weapons nor any sorts of powers...Would you say it was luck?"

That was rather insulting. He decided to ignore the fact she had just called him weak.

"Umm, perhaps? But it was mainly because of my friends and Frodo. Their courage was what won over Sauron in the end, and it never would have happened without them." He smiled, albeit rather sadly. He would always remember Thorin as he lay dying on the ice at Ravenhill, and Frodo's haunted look after returning from his journey. They were images that would never fade.

"So do you think if you had the chance, you could do it again?" she asked, leaning forward. There was a strange, almost hungry look in her eyes.

He leaned back away from her, suddenly wary.

"Well, maybe? Why do you ask?"

She tapped her chin again, adopting an innocent expression. "Hmmm, would you be at all opposed to going back?" she asked, in an almost sly tone. After she spoke, a wide smile began to spread across her face. Instead of enhancing her already ethereal beauty, it distorted it, darkening her features and giving her an almost eerie look.

Bilbo could feel dread growing in the pit of his stomach. What was she planning?

"Well, y-yes!" He said hurriedly. "What's done is done, and I don't know if the end would be the same and I wouldn't want to risk it."

She frowned, seeming disappointed. "So it was luck."

"I said it wasn't!"

She shook her head, scowling. "Then why wouldn't you be able to do it again? Especially with the knowledge you now have of the events to come. You could even change things for the better."

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the light surrounding her expanding. He gulped nervously. He had a really, really, bad feeling about where this was going.

He started twitching nervously, and twiddling his thumbs. "W-why do you ask this? It seems almost as though you try to t-tempt me!"

"Perhaps I _am_ trying," she said darkly. Glancing around the cave, an almost serene expression passed across her face. For some reason, it was even more frightening than her previous dark smile. She clapped her hands together. "It is decided then. I will send you back in time, you will do the quest again-"

This could _not_ be happening.

"No! You're making a _terrible_ mistake!"

"-And I will watch." she finished.

He stared, paralyzed in shock, as she rose to her feet in a single fluid motion. She lifted her hands, closing her eyes, and swirls of white light balled on her palms. The ground began to quake, and trails of dust fell from the ceiling. The air was filled with a vibrating hum, which Bilbo knew clear as day, was the sound of _magic_.

The white light grew from her palms until it encompassed her entire form. It grew brighter and brighter until it was blinding, and Bilbo raised an arm to shield his eyes. Recovering from his initial shock he ran forward and cried, "Wait! Stop! What are you doing? You _cannot_ do this!"

She opened her eyes, and where there should have been irises and pupils, rays of light shone outward. Bilbo recoiled in shock.

"Farewell Master Baggins. Sleep," she said, her single voice deep, and now sounding like that of many at once. "When you wake, it will be on the morning you began your journey. Show me how you changed fate. Prove to me that it was not luck."

 _She knows my name_ , he thought rather dazedly.

"May we meet again, in another time," Dipping her head towards him, the ground gave a final heave, and a mighty gust of wind blew through the air. The cavern filled with light, and in the next moment, she was gone.

Once again, the cave was shrouded in darkness.

He stood still, staring numbly ahead. _What had just happened?_

Exhaustion overcame him, and he staggered backwards, falling to the floor.

Curling in on himself, he was powerless to stop his eyelids as they drooped...

Then slipped shut.

* * *

He dreamt of the quest for Erebor.

Memories flashed across his mind.

 _A group of rowdy dwarves invade his smial. He knows he will not go with them on their journey, but once he hears a deep voice singing of a place far over the Misty Mountains, his heart burns with a longing to see it. The song awakens a yearning deep within him to see the world, and without sparing a second thought, he runs out his door the next day, forgetting to bring even a handkerchief..._

 _He gives Fíli and Kíli their dinner, only to be coerced into retrieving the ponies from a group of trolls. He foolishly forgets to take a knife to cut them loose with, and in an attempt to steal one is captured. A troll uses him as a tissue, and the company is put into sacks. It would be an amusing sight if not for the graveness of the situation. Parasites and seasoning, all are a ploy to stall until morning..._

 _Their supplies are replenished in Rivendell and their map read, but later they are caught in a thunder battle between Stone Giants. Harsh words are spoken, and a near death experience occurs. He knows he doesn't belong with the company, but when he tries to leave it is already too late. The ground opens up and swallows them deep into the depths of the goblin tunnels..._

 _Riddles in the dark and a test of wits with the twisted creature called Gollum. Bilbo finds the ring and escapes, (unwittingly) using it for the first time..._

 _Chased by orcs and wargs, they flee until they reach a clearing of trees. Climbing up onto the branches, they fight with fire, throwing burning pinecones until the clearing is wreathed in flames. Bilbo watches as Thorin is chewed by the warg of his mortal enemy, and as an orc prepares to end his life. He hurls himself forward between them, because in that moment, he knew. That whatever happened, he could not let Thorin Oakenshield die. Even if the price was his life..._

 _Eagles wheeled overhead. He prays desperately that Gandalf can heal Thorin, and only moments later, he is wrapped in a warm embrace. Finally, he belongs, and he cannot help but think he does so more here than he ever had in the Shire..._

 _Days and nights of refuge are spent in the home of the skin-changer. A bear and man equally, he is feared by beings of evil..._

 _They spend months in the dungeons of the Mirkwood. He runs messages and sneaks food, all while formulating a daring escape plan. Afterward, they are bumped, bruised, jostled and cramped in barrels, all the way to Laketown..._

 _Bard the bargemen finds them, and after paying him, he helps them steal into Laketown like thieves in the night. However before long, the Master of the men of the lake greets them to a warm welcome. Early the next day, they are set on their way to the lonely mountain that looms ahead..._

 _Bilbo finds the hidden door, and soon after confronts a monster the like of which he's never seen. Feeling smaller than he ever has before, he doesn't let his fear overcome his duty to the company, and completes his task. A long chase ensues across Erebor, in which Smaug is covered in gold and the dwarves triumph. However, in the end it is not enough to stop him, and he flies in pursuit of Laketown where only fire and death await..._

 _Thorin falls into gold sickness, and Bilbo formulates a desperate plan to break him out of it. The plan is one he knows will ruin their friendship, but all the same, he is willing to take that risk if it means that Thorin can be saved. The incidents with the acorn and the Mithril shirt; both only serve to strengthen his resolve. He gives the Arkenstone to the men of Laketown as well as the Woodland elves, and his plan is a success. When the inevitable comes however, and he is banished from Erebor and proclaimed a traitor, he cannot help but feel he deserves it..._

 _Bilbo sprints to Ravenhill, praying he's not too late. He fells orc after orc with stones, before a brutal knock to the head wipes him out cold. Awakening to the screeching of eagles, he finds Thorin lying mortally wounded on the ice. Upon hearing his whispered amends, a fear greater than any he has ever felt rises within him. After all that has happened, after all they have been through together; he doesn't know how he can live a life again without Thorin Oakenshield..._

 _He feels only pain as Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli are lowered into their coffins. The world becomes a cold place, and everywhere he looks he sees only reminders of his grief. He packs to leave Erebor, saying a hasty goodbye to his friends, unable to bear seeing the place Thorin so coveted any longer..._

 _Gandalf talks with him on the return journey. He helps him realize that a pain so deep, and an ache so fierce, could only have come from love. Knowing what he'd lost, the pain only feels that much more devastating..._

 _He becomes a shell of his former self, finding solace only in the growing acorn in front of his smial, and honoring Thorin's last words. His life becomes meaningless, and the world devoid of color. When Frodo comes along, the color comes back, and his purpose returns. He can see them: Thorin, Fíli, and kíli, all in the little fauntling. Thus he treasures him above all else..._

 _Years pass. When the time is that of the quest's anniversary or his own birthday, he spends it reveling in his memories. Staring into the distance, he remembers the good, the bad, and the fact that he made it back home in the end. Old wounds are healed with time, and over the years he makes peace with Thorin's death. Despite that, when night came on those days, he would look to the stars, and wish upon them that he could go back again and change things. That he could have a chance at the future he knew they'd have had together. The one that had been taken from them._

 _He never stopped wishing..._

* * *

Upon waking, Bilbo's vision swam with raven colored locks and piercing dark blue eyes.

It took him more than a few moments to register his surroundings. When he did, he sat upright with a jolt.

He was back in his smial, in Bag-End. He was lying in a familiar bed, in a familiar room. Everything was the same as he'd left it, from the wooden-paneled ceiling to the flowerpot on the windowsill.

He'd changed little in over 80 years.

His mind was drawn back to his current predicament. Who was that lady? She had obviously been powerful, so a deity? He hadn't even gotten her name! He had so many questions, but no way to answer them all.

It was frustrating.

Rubbing a hand along the back of his neck, he sighed. At least he wasn't hungry anymore, and even if he was, he could always just go to the pantry and grab a snack. Unfortunately however, that led to another question. Was he really in Bag-End? Had she been telling the truth? There was only one way to find out.

Craning his neck, he peered at his reflection in the mirror atop his bedside table. He sighed nostalgically. The face that looked back at him wasn't the youthful one he'd regained in the Undying Lands, but the one he'd begun his journey with. One lined with age, but still in its prime.

Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes as he realized the significance of this. The simple truth of it all: He was back in time.

This meant he would meet Thorin, Fili, Kili, Balin, and Ori, all over again. It meant that he had the chance to protect them this time, to _change_ their fate. It was dangerous though, and a huge risk, meddling with time. But with a chance like this, however could he _not_ take it?

His tears spilled over, trickling down his face.

What if he accidentally made things worse? What if he made a mistake, and it cost even more lives than last time?

There was no telling what could happen.

"Eru give me strength," he whispered.


	2. Chapter 1: A Not-So-Good Morning

**Chapter One- A Not-So-Good Morning**

Gandalf the Grey sat atop a hill, gazing at the sight before him.

He saw the sky, bright and cloudless, as well as green hills and gurgling streams, all filled with laughter and life.

Stretched before him was the most beautiful place he'd ever seen.

The Shire.

Walking to and fro in the bustling market of Hobbiton on this fair day, were, well, the _hobbits_ of Hobbiton. Merry-faced, chubby-cheeked, hairy-footed creatures that were ever so _content_ , and _satisfied_ , with their lot in life.

It was what made them so different from the rest of the world.

Some would call their love of food, and the comforts of home a weakness, although he knew better.

It was their strength.

Hobbits were unendingly kind, and so very _brave_. Lacking in the sins of all other races, there was a purity to them that seemed almost _unimaginable_.

They were just so _untouched_ by the evil in the world. It was visible in their every movement, and in the very _air_ they breathed.

The Shire was just so alive, so _plentiful_ , and so _beautiful_.

It was a reflection of the very people that lived within.

And that was an encouraging thought.

Tugging his knees to his chest, Gandalf packed his pipe, readying it for a smoke. Lighting it, he put it to his mouth, and leaned back with a contented sigh. He puffed on it, blowing smoke rings as he mused.

He remembered a time long ago, when after thousands of years spent on Middle Earth, he'd just felt so _tired_. Bone weary, he had been oh so tempted to just _give up_ , and let darkness descend upon the land. To fail his mission and let the world rot, because after so long, he'd forgotten why-ever even he should care.

That is, until he'd found _them_.

The hobbits of the Shire.

A people and a place, so full of light, so full of _good_ , and yet, one amidst such a war-ravaged, and strife-filled land. A place that seemed to be the only one in the world that evil still had yet to touch.

It made him want to keep it that way.

He'd resumed his duty, his purpose renewed. In all that was the Shire, he had finally found something worth fighting for.

And in the hundreds of years that had followed since, the courage of hobbits still never ceased to amaze him.

After all, he remembered the feats of the ever-wonderful _Belladonna Took_ , to this day.

He remembered her: the young hobbit lass that had stepped out into the big, wide world, with naught but the clothes on her back and a kitchen knife to defend herself. How along the way, she'd faced so much peril, encountering dark things, strange things, and always, _always_ new things on her journey. And yet, how despite that, never once did her spirit wane, or her courage falter. In the face of all a hobbit wasn't, she'd taken it head on, proving that she had a place out in the world. That _hobbits_ had a place in the world. One that they could call their own, and fend for for themselves.

He had no doubt that they would continue to surprise him forever.

Emptying his pipe and then tucking it back into his robe, he placed a hand on his staff, which lay on the ground beside him.

The journey ahead would be dangerous, and likely to change the world. The path would be plagued by promises of gold and glory, and ever would falsehoods seek to lead the company astray. They'd need a reminder along the way of what _truly_ mattered, so that if ever they lost sight of their purpose, and ended up drowning in a dark pit of greed, they would be able to find their way back to the light.

For if there was one thing that Gandalf had learned in all his years on Middle Earth, it was that great evil was overcome not by great power, but by the small things in life.

Everyday acts of kindness and love.

Of home, and of friendship.

The things that were _really_ important.

And all that were the essence of a hobbit.

So perhaps, it was time again, for the hobbits of the Shire to show the world their worth.

Although this time, with not Belladonna, but her _son_.

Smiling, Gandalf gathered up his staff, clutching it to his chest as he stood. Looking up to the round green door that was the entrance to Bag-End, he set off down the cobbled stone path that led through Bagshot Row.

Bilbo Baggins was just what this quest needed.

* * *

Bilbo sat on the bench outside his smial, a pipe to his lips, and his brow furrowed.

Just earlier that morning, only a tad bit after his little epiphany, he'd curled up on his bed, mulling over the situation. After concluding that he was not cut out for this sort of thing anymore, he'd ended up sobbing, screaming, and beating up his pillow for a good hour.

To put it nicely, he'd just been feeling rather overwhelmed.

However, because he was a _Baggins of Bag-End_ , and not some _crying little faunt who'd just stubbed their toe_ , his sense of responsibility dictated that he needed to get a move on and start planning. Thus, he'd crawled out of bed and hobbled into the kitchen, knocking over a vase with his tear-blurred vision, and then burning his eggs _twice_ , before making a salvageable breakfast. Sitting at his dining table afterwards, he'd been uncharacteristically unenthusiastic to eat, and had been unable to stomach more than a few bites of his scrambled eggs and toast.

Which, he'd then promptly thrown up.

So naturally, he went outside to have a smoke in an attempt to settle his nerves.

It really wasn't working.

Seeing as he was still a nervous wreck who didn't even notice the lovely weather and all.

He just didn't know what to do.

Or rather, he knew what he _wanted_ to do, he just didn't know if he _should_ do it.

He _wanted_ to save everyone he could, which, in turn, led to his current internal argument.

Bilbo happened to be enough of a literary person that he knew the stereotypes of typical time-travel stories. He knew that it was a very bad idea to tell everyone about his situation, or to change every little inconsequential detail of everything to his liking. He also knew, that more often than not, that no matter the original intent, slight changes could have ghastly-unintended consequences. So now, he had two choices: try and keep everything the same, or change it all and hope for the best.

He was selfish enough that it really _wasn't_ a difficult decision.

Because no matter what, he would save them.

Even if it would cost him his life.

Which, in this case, was quite possible.

So basically, all he had to do now was convince himself it was the right thing to do, because otherwise, he'd probably spend the entirety of the journey wallowing in self-loathing and just making a mess of himself in general.

Not unlike what he was doing right now.

He sighed, burying his face in his hands, and propping his elbows on his knees as he dropped his pipe onto the bench beside him. He really was torturing himself unnecessarily. In all actuality, the solution was quite simple: change the bare minimum to achieve the desired results.

Yep. Simple.

A foolproof plan.

Bilbo rubbed his forehead wearily, shaking his head at the rather redundant thoughts he was having. A slight breeze blew through the air, ruffling his curls.

His hand drifted habitually to his pocket where there was ah-...no ring. He still needed to get used to that. Speaking of which, there was that matter to attend to as well. Obviously he had to find it, since it was absolutely essential to the quest and all, but what to do with it then? Should he take it to Mordor himself, or let Frodo play his part in how events turned out? Although...No. No, now that he actually thought about it, there really was no question. Because here, with the chance to save thousands, what kind of person would he be if he only used it to save a few?

Worse than Sauron that's what.

He needed to destroy the ring himself.

Alone.

For everyone.

It would be difficult though. So very difficult.

Although in this time, it might actually be easier than it had been for Frodo, seeing as Sauron wasn't quite as powerful yet as he'd been back then. In fact, there might actually be very little resistance on the way to Mordor if he-

The caw of a crow cut through his train of thought abruptly.

He looked up, glaring sharply at the suspect, who was perched on the mailbox beside-

...

Gandalf.

The old grey wizard himself leaned against the gate, dirty-robes, scruffy-beard, pointy-hat and all. His eyes were twinkling as he gazed at Bilbo, and he stroked the large, sleek bird beside him with the back of one hand.

That mischievous coot must have snuck up on him while he was distracted.

And since when did Gandalf have a bird?

Well, this was...great. Just great.

 _Now what?_

"Good morning," he said, saying the first thing that came to mind.

"What to you mean? Do you mean-"

He had _not_ thought this part through _at all_.

"Not again." he muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth.

"-to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or, perhaps you mean to say you feel good, on this particular morning. Or, are you simply stating this is a morning to be good on?"

Resigned to his fate he sighed and picked his pipe back up, waving it in the air lazily with one hand. "All of them at once I suppose."

Ever-cryptic Gandalf just narrowed his eyes at him, giving him a contemplative look.

He raised his eyebrows in response. He'd had enough of Gandalf's mystique in his life that he didn't really care any more.

"Hmmm...I'm looking for someone to share-"

Gandalf suddenly broke off, his expression morphing into a concerned one, as he studied Bilbo's face closely.

"Bilbo Baggins, have you been _crying_?"

He dropped his pipe again. _Damn, was it that obvious?_

"Um, no, of course not," he said, shaking his head vigorously. Then, as an afterthought he added, "And do I know you?"

Gandalf looked rather baffled, but luckily enough held his tongue. After a few moments, he recovered his usual bluster.

"Well you know my name, although you do not know I belong to it, I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means..." he trailed off, seemingly searching for the right word. Bilbo took that time to attempt at discreetly dab at his eyes with his handkerchief. "Me."

Hurriedly raising his head, Bilbo plastered on the widest grin he could manage as he tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket. From prior experience, he was pretty sure he looked rather maniacal at the moment.

"Oh! Not Gandalf the wandering wizard who sold such _excellent_ fireworks! I remember Old Took had them on Midsummer's Eve! I had _no_ idea you were still in business!"

"And where else should I be?" Gandalf asked, a rather disgruntled air to him.

Unfazed, Bilbo picked his pipe back up and waved it in the air merrily. Hopefully Gandalf couldn't tell that he was bordering on hysterical right now.

Still with the vaguely annoyed expression, Gandalf continued, "Well, I'm pleased to see you remember _something_ about me, even if it's only my fireworks. Now, I am looking for someone to share in an _adventure_ -"

"Yes, yes, yep. Mmhmm," He intervened quickly, nodding his head up and down.

"Now how many guests will I be having tonight?"

Smiling innocently at a speechless Gandalf, he started puffing away at his pipe again. Wait, what? A speechless Gandalf? When had anyone ever made _Gandalf_ speechless? He hadn't say that out loud, had he-

 _Crap._

A rather stunned Gandalf seemed to have momentarily recovered from his previous shock. Soon his eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Bilbo gulped.

"And _what_ makes you think you'll be having guests tonight?"

"Ah, um, well, you see..." Desperately Bilbo wracked his brain for a way to cover up his mistake. _Why oh why_ had he said that?

"Isn't it, well, _normal_ on an adventure to have a party first? For the _adventurers_? And naturally, if one's a hobbit then...then _they'll_ be the one to cook the dinner!"

Internally he was smacking himself. That was the lamest cover-up attempt ever.

 _Ever._

He was doomed, and the quest hadn't even started.

"I see," Gandalf said, "Now, there will be 13 dwarves coming, and I think...Are you sure you're quite all right?"

Bilbo's eyes had begun darting around like a cornered animal's as he started searching for a possible escape route. He fixed his gaze on the door to Bag-End, and began backing up slowly. Nodding vigorously upon hearing Gandalf's words and gesturing with his pipe, he said, "Yes! Yes, I'm fine! _Very_ fine. Now, I'll just be...off and preparing, that's right and, um... _Good morning_!"

"Bilbo-" began Gandalf.

He turned tail and fled back into his smial, not even bothering to see what Gandalf did. He slammed the door shut and bolted it behind him, collapsing heavily against the frame, and then sliding down it to the floor.

He hung his head miserably.

 _What a mess of things you've made Bilbo Baggins,_ he thought bitterly.

Tears began filling his eyes for the third time that day, but this time he shook himself out of it, wiping his face against his sleeve.

He had better things to do now than cry.

He needed to plan, and he didn't have time to lose himself in the situation, lest there be worse consequences than a thoroughly confused Gandalf. He couldn't risk a mistake like this happening again.

Not when there was so much at stake.

Dabbing at his eyes, he stood, walking down the hall to his study.

He sat down at his desk, pulling out ink, a quill, and a piece of parchment paper.

It was time to plan.

* * *

Leaning back against his chair with a groan, Bilbo lifted his arms above his head, stretching languidly. He hunched forward, resting his forehead on the red-colored wood of the desk, before closing his bleary eyes.

He'd been writing out plans for _hours_.

And _by Eru_ , he was _tired_.

Absent-mindedly, he drummed his fingers lightly against the desk, and watched idly as the last veins of ink spread throughout the page. Inhaling the scent of wet ink on parchment, he reveled in the sense of comfort brought by its familiarity.

After the whirlwind of emotions that this day had been, at last he'd earned a moment of calm.

Because now, he finally had a _plan_.

For the past few hours, he had _meticulously_ documented each and every one of the events from the quest that he could remember, the entire time lamenting the fact that in _this_ time he couldn't have his book with him as an aid. He'd selected which events to change, and thought carefully on _how_ to change them. He'd then formulated and finalized plans, creating back up ones just in case, all the while making sure to leave plenty of room for changes later on.

For after the incident in the morning, he was certain that he couldn't go unprepared again.

In fact, he would go so far as to say it was _crucial_ to success that he wouldn't be.

At the same time though, he knew better than to expect all would go as planned. In fact, it was likely that more often than not things wouldn't. But either way, just having a plan in _itself_ was something that gave him confidence.

Confidence he sorely needed.

So now, bundling, tidying, and rolling up his finished plans into scrolls, he stacked them neatly in a pile to await packing. He tied them all with pieces of twine, and then pushed his chair back, starting towards the door.

As he walked, suddenly a harsh noise, almost like a bang sounded. He paused briefly, looking about the room, and then shrugged when he saw that nothing was amiss. Just as he was about to continue on his way, he heard it again, although this time, it didn't stop.

A loud, continuous tapping noise coming from the windowsill.

Tilting his head with a frown, he approached the window of his study, noticing that the taps increased in volume as he got closer. He peered through it curiously, and his brow furrowed in confusion at what he saw.

 _A crow?_

Most definitely a crow.

But whatever was one doing in Bag-End?

There'd never been any crows here, so why would there-

Wait…hadn't there been one at the gate just _this_ morning with Gandalf? But-ah, that explained things.

That wizard was _always_ surrounded by strange occurrences.

He just must not have noticed it earlier, being so distracted and what not.

Odd though…

Stepping directly up to the window, Bilbo ran his hands along the latch, intending to get a closer look at the bird. As he pushed it open, the crow instantly ceased its tapping, rapidly retreating a few steps and briefly flaring its wings. Then holding its ground as it regained its composure, inky-black, orb-like eyes met his.

A sudden, windless cold swept through the air.

He shivered, although whether from the temperature, or from the sudden flash of fear that went through is mind, he did not know.

All he knew was that on instinct, he felt afraid of this creature.

And that somehow, this feeling was _familiar_.

Keeping his eyes trained on the bird, he thought hard.

There was something about it…just something that gave him a bad feeling.

A _very_ bad feeling.

Perhaps though...Perhaps he was just being paranoid. Maybe the cold was just from a cool breeze that had come inside when he opened the window, and the crow was probably just a normal bird passing by Bag-End-...scratch that, it was _not_ a normal bird, seeing as it had been with _Gandalf_ , and when had anything he touched ever turned out to normal? Likely never. So anyway, not a _normal_ bird, but certainly not anything bad right?

Still though, there was something off about it...

Crows were a bad omen weren't they?

That could mean-no. That was just superstition. Nothing he'd ever believed in.

Nothing he believed in now.

Turning away from it, he was about to close the window and attempt to chase such ominous thoughts to the back of his mind, when an eerie caw sounded. Time slowed down, and for a fleeting moment, a dark spot seemed to pass over the sun. His blood turned to ice, and freezing mid-movement, he breathing was suddenly too _loud_ , too _harsh_ and his heart felt as though it was trying to beat out of his chest.

The moment passed, but still standing stock-still, and feeling slightly dazed, Bilbo watched wide-eyed as the bird splayed its wings in preparation for flight. When he realized that the bird was leaving, he unclenched fists he had not realized he'd clenched in the first place, and relaxed minutely in relief.

Just as it was about to take off however, a sparkle in the fading sunlight caught his eye.

Tied to its leg with a blue ribbon, was a _letter_.

 _Well that certainly solidifies the fact that it's not a normal bird_ , he thought.

Without further ado, the bird sprung into the air; a silent, and sinister presence against a bright, sun-lit sky. He watched as the bird circled Bag-End once, twice, and then flew off into the distance, becoming a dark dot against the setting sun.

Warmth seeped back into his limbs, and he let out a relieved sigh.

It was gone.

But still, a feeling of unease clawed at his mind. What had such a dark presence been doing here? At first he'd thought it had been Gandalf's doing, but after all that...

 _It was impossible._

But what if…what if it had something to do with _her_?

The reason that he was here at all in the first place...

Because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that this had _not_ happened last time.

And that in itself, was something to fear.

He couldn't be certain, but _assuming_ that this was _her_ doing, had she meddled with anything else?

Could she even be creating _new_ obstacles for him to overcome on the quest ahead?

Even worse, what if she was providing _Sauron_ with aid?

Shaking his head, he tried to banish such worrying thoughts from his mind. He gazed at the sky, trying to be happy about the fact that for now, the bird was gone. Absent-mindedly, he admired the red and gold stripes that streaked across the sun, and the silver and blue wisps that tinged the corners of the sky.

Reminded of the time, he froze.

It was almost dusk.

Tensing, he closed the window and whirled around.

He had one hour.

One hour till Dwalin arrived; the first of a stream of dwarves that would knock seemingly endlessly on his door. One hour to pack all of the essentials, cook a fish dinner, and prepare himself mentally for the chaos that would be sure to reign.

For just one hour, he had a lot to do.

Thoughts of the crow vanished from his mind at the prospect, and he hurried from room to room, rushing to gather and locate all that he would need.

Burying himself in his tasks, he thought nothing more of what had occurred.

Yet all the same, a cold feeling lingered at the back of his mind.

One that didn't leave for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Humming merrily to himself, Bilbo flipped the fish off the pan and onto a plate.

He squeezed a lemon and sprinkled some salt over it, before gingerly setting it on the table. There he also placed a fork and knife, although he was sure that Dwalin would be using only his hands.

A warm feeling went through him at the thought.

He remembered the last time when Dwalin had come, he had been horrified, and slightly offended by his atrocious lack of manners. He remembered desperately trying to reign in his temper, but seeing as he'd had no idea whatsoever why on Earth Dwalin was there, not to mention the fact that quite frankly, he'd found the dwarf absolutely _terrifying_ , it had been rather difficult.

Oh how _different_ it would be this time.

Because _this_ time, instead of greeting burly strangers that had barged into his home unannounced, he'd be greeting old friends. Friends that he'd known for a lifetime, and that were the _truest_ , and _dearest_ companions that he'd ever had. For with each and every one of them, he'd forged a friendship to last the ages. Yes, he would have to conceal the fact that he'd known and loved them all for a long time, but if that meant he could get the chance to do so again, it would be well worth it.

And preferably, this time he'd get to know them even _better_.

Leaning against the wall, he smiled faintly. Other than the fact that he'd be a heck of a lot more willing to join them on their quest this time, he'd conceded to only one other small change. Which was that now, he wore his finest cream-colored waistcoat with silver buttons, for if there was anything that was humiliating, it was appearing in front of _Dwalin_ in a _bathrobe_. And if avoiding _that_ was at all a possibility, then, well...

 _One small change wouldn't hurt anything._

Scratching his head, and then brushing a stray curl behind the tip of one pointed ear, he gazed at the warm glow cast around the room by the fire in the hearth. He watched as the flames swirled, and the embers sizzled and crackled, casting flickering lights that danced across the walls, competing with the shadows. Losing himself in memories that had happened in that very room, he waited for Dwalin.

It didn't take long.

Before he knew it, the trilling sound of the doorbell ringing was reverberating through the house.

He leapt to his feet, rushing toward the door, and then he flung it open upon reaching it.

There he stood, panting just slightly as a large, silly, and oh so _genuine_ grin spread across his face at the sight before him.

There, silhouetted against the many shades of cool blue in the dusk sky, was Dwalin.

 _Dwalin._

Bald-headed, tattooed, gruff, ever-loyal, and brave _Dwalin_.

He could hardly contain the giddy laugh that threatened to spill from his mouth.

Bilbo was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in exuberance, when Dwalin stepped forward.

Placing a hand on his chest, the dwarf leaned low, bowing.

"Dwalin, at your-"

"Dwalin!" Bilbo exclaimed excitedly, and then froze.

The dwarf cut off abruptly mid-sentence.

Horrified, Bilbo's hand rose to cover his mouth, and for several moments, a tense silence reigned.

Then Dwalin's face hardened, and his fists clenched, gravitating towards his axes.

Bilbo whimpered frustratedly, scrunching up his face as he tried to think fast, as once again, he had to cover up for his mistake.

 _Boy oh boy was he in trouble_. But hopefully, _maybe_ Dwalin would just assume that-

"You know my name." Dwalin said, sounding falsely, _dangerously_ calm.

 _Well..._

 _Damn it._


End file.
